The Olympians
by Sylvie Orp
Summary: Cowley's best men give it their all


CI5 agents aren't usually on one case alone. Quite often George Cowley would make dossiers available in the Mess – files on suspects whom Cowley wanted found, either for his own ends or for others who would owe him a favour or two in the future. George's boys and girls kept their minds on their assignments and their eyes peeled for those 'wanted'.

So it was that Bodie and Doyle were cruising off for a word with a gun-runner who may point them in the right direction for their assignment. They weren't doing very well so far in taking juicy bones back to their esteemed leader, so they badly needed a break on this one. Fate was on their side, today, however. Their main case may have got bogged down, but Doyle spotted one of their 'wanted'. Doyle knew him from his police days. Who didn't on the Force? They had a long history.

"That's Collins!" Doyle pointed out excitedly as Bodie rounded a corner, but he wasn't sure yet who the guy was with him.

Bodie carefully mounted the kerb on the other side of the road so as not to arouse suspicion and the pair got out – ignoring a meter maid who was heading their way, and the angry blare of a horn from a car that narrowly missed them from behind. The pair picked up speed as they headed across the road on foot towards their quarry. Unfortunately a careless delivery driver, who was carrying boxes of electronics to a local shop, knocked a cyclist off his bike. The accident caused the criminals to turn to see what had happened, as did everyone else, and they spotted Bodie and Doyle's purposeful trot in their direction. The men didn't need to do a double take. They knew Doyle by sight and reputation. He was big trouble. The villains split up and took off like rockets.

Doyle headed off after Collins and Bodie took the other, whom Doyle had now 'clocked' as Smithson, a lightweight con. They ducked and dived among the shoppers and traffic. Doyle hurtled towards his prey, gaining on him with every stride. His strenuous training was serving him well. Collins was belting across the car park now, Doyle nearly within an arm's length. But Collins was also a good runner – and vaulter. He leapt onto the bonnet of a parked car and was over a wall before Doyle could stop him. Had the agent been closer he would have heard some colourful language from his prey. But Doyle didn't alter his stride, and followed Collins onto the bonnet and up over the wall. Then he did some serious swearing himself as he tumbled over onto the other side. What the pair hadn't noticed during their acrobatics was barbed wire embedded in the top of the wall to prevent intruders or vandals. Doyle's instinct was to roll despite the shock and the shredded clothing. He was quickly on his feet and away as he tried to block off the pain. Collins hadn't gone far though and Doyle saw him hobbling manfully across the road on the far side. It didn't take the agent long to catch up with him, grabbing his collar to make sure of his capture. He knew that Collins wasn't normally a violent man. If cornered, he could fight dirty. But today wasn't such a day.

"Fair cop," Collins gasped, bending over like an athlete after a 100-metre competition. "You're a bloody good runner, Mr Doyle. Have you thought of entering the Police Olympics?!"

Doyle grinned good-heartedly, slapping the man on the back - which sent shivers of pain up his arm. "You're not bad yourself, Dick. How about a race in the prison yard?!"

Collins gave him a lob-sided grin.

"Come on," Doyle encouraged, still gasping.

Collins gave in gracefully and Doyle allowed him to use his shoulder as a crutch, taking most of the man's weight.

"Anything broken?" Doyle asked as they made it back to the main road.

"Not sure. My best suit's ruined though, and my hands are giving me hell."

His hands, like Doyle's, were dripping blood. The agent then looked at the man's attire – scruffy even by Doyle's own standards, and even worse now that the barbed wire had got amongst his clothing.

"Claim it on expenses," Doyle advised, "along with mine."

As they neared the CI5 car, Doyle saw Bodie heading the same way with his prisoner in a firm headlock, his right arm up behind his back. They were both soaking wet.

"Is 'e going for the Olympics too?" quipped Collins.

Before Bodie could get a handle on what Collins was on about Doyle cut in, looking his partner in the eye. "Yeah. He's a natural for the breaststroke!"

Bodie had the grace to look a little abashed and grinned at the double entendre. Doyle fished the cuffs from his back pocket while he pushed Collins into the back of the car, but his hands were too painful to help his partner any further.

"What have you two been up to while Collins and I have been pole vaulting?"

"We decided to have a wee swim in the canal," Bodie explained while cuffing his prisoner. "Yeah, he's a real natural Ray."

"I can't bloody swim!" protested their prisoner, still coughing.

"Oh yeah. There was that technicality, wasn't there?" Bodie agreed thoughtfully. "Never mind. It was a good effort."

The agents got in, Bodie doing the driving. They had at last got something tasty to take back to George today.


End file.
